The Perks of being a Survivor
by Seven secrets
Summary: Neville Longbottom is damaged and emotionally drained war veteran. The Wizarding world is changing, you-know-who is dead, the ministry's rebuilding and he's been offered a job as an Auror, if fate were kind he'd be happy. Struggling with his relationship with Luna, his dysfunctional family and the depression that touched the wizarding world. Full summary inside! Rating may change


**Summary: **Neville Longbottom is damaged and emotionally drained war veteran. The Wizarding world is changing, you-know-who is dead, the ministry's rebuilding and he's been offered a job as an Auror, if fate were kind he'd be happy, however he's struggling with what he assumes is a passing case of depression and cannot get over the scars the war has left him, he's currently conflicted as he's beginning his new relationship with Luna Lovegood.

This story deals with Social prejudice and tension after the war, the uprising of small wizarding gangs, Neville's struggle to find his place in the world and discover what it is he wants to do with his life. Eventually leads to Herbology Professor Longbottom and Hannah.A/Neville.L marriage.

_"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom." _

-Lord Voldemort, Battle of Hogwarts

* * *

_Screaming._

_Running._

_Quick! Turnaround._

_Cast a spell._

_Pray to god that the green light doesn't hit you._

_Now hate yourself because that green light hit someone._

_Run faster maybe you'll save them._

_Quick turnaround, cast a spell, something hit the floor –someone hit the floor, run, Seamus! Duck! Cast a spell, turn back to back, share a smile, more screaming, turn around, pray to god that green light doesn't hit you, now hate yourself because that green light hit someone._

_Run faster, run harder._

_You feel dizzy and things become blurred, black cloaks are moulding together and you're not quite sure whose who. The bodies on the floor are all covered in blood, the masks on the floor are broken, knocked aside, stained, cracked, and the death eaters remaining have learnt to discard their own disguises, you wonder whether or not they want their victims to know who killed them, or if perhaps they want to be identifiable when worst comes to worst._

_Death._

_More screaming._

_More death._

_Fifth years, sixth years, the astronomy teacher, seventh years, the arithmancy teacher, sixth years, Madame Hooch, fifth years._

_Your eyes catch a plump woman on the floor, her robes embedded with what looks like ear muffs and lucky rabbit's feet._

_Professor Sprout! You run, you can save her, you want to save her, you want to save the only teacher who had such a firm belief in you, you want to save the person responsible for your only O, you push, you cast, you duck, you shove._

_You save._

_You run._

_Pray to god that green light doesn't hit you._

_Now hate yourself because that green light hit someone._

_Things are dizzy again, and you feel drained, things are somewhat blurred and you're not entirely sure how the hat came to you, but you reach out for it, you remember the feel of a sword in your hand, the cool silvery feeling, you're sure it's silver because it's too shiny to be any kind of metal you've encountered before._

_Snake. _

_Snake._

_Kill the snake._

_And then everything seems to pause and screaming falls on death ears, everyone else seems to be moving faster than you, things are in motion whilst you're rooted to the spot almost as though you've been hexed, you're frozen, watching this mist that arises when the blade of your sword collides with the head of the snake, it's not a mist at all really it's this creature that seems to have stemmed from the very gates of hell itself. You watch it rise up, rise up and scream, a scream so penetrating it tears you up inside and your too afraid to move, the green light doesn't scare you anymore because you've seen it, you've felt it, it's still tearing you up inside when bodies slam into you, it still tears you up inside even as you look down onto Lavender Brown's body._

_It's ripping you apart when you look down at Professor Lupin (Professor because you've never quite managed to get onto a personal level with him, and Remus felt too strange, sometimes you'd manage a Moony back when you were reporting back to the Order through the radio) his wife's lying next to him, their hands are touching and you're not quite sure whether or not they fell like that or someone moved them together, part of you hopes they fell._

_You still can't get past it as Dean pulls you into an embrace, and each of you silently smiles with relief at the fact that your roommate for the past 7 years of your life, isn't amongst the dead bodies littered across the floor._

_You don't mind so much the way the fifth years and seventh years are looking at you, because you don't realise how fast the news has travelled._

_You find it in yourself to forgive Mrs Weasley for killing Bellatrix, you find enough room to loath yourself –even more than you already do, for not doing it immediately._

_You feel as though another breath gets knocked out of you when you hear about Fred, you don't intrude, you don't sob or cry, not because you weren't particularly close (which you weren't) but because you feel too much for tears right now. You can almost understand how Harry felt two years ago when Black fell through the veil, and then you can't because you and Fred were never particularly close._

_You feel conflicted._

_And then you almost have the gall to smile because you see Luna, unconventional, awkward, Luna, who smiled at you on the train when you met in fifth year, who held your hand all the way through DA meetings after she got back to school this year, Luna who'd smile and close up whenever you tried to talk to her about where she'd been._

_And then you walk towards her, one foot at a time, it's more limping than walking because your leg's still dead and bruised from when you fell, your arms are sore and cut from the amount of times you had to hit the floor to dodge a spell or were on the receiving end of some especially bad jinxes, and you didn't realise how much it hurt to breath, or how much effort standing took. _

_You wish you had tried out for the Quidditch team in fourth year._

_You look at each other when your somewhat lame body reaches her, and neither of you speak, neither of you cry, you just watch each other, she smiles at you as though you haven't been through a war and your glad that she didn't lose that smile, and then you sit._

_You hold hands like you did all through DA this year._

_You breathe._

_You wait._

_You celebrate._

_You praise._

_You receive._

_You sleep._

_You wake._

_You cry._

* * *

Neville Longbottom was officially a war veteran, it felt strange for him to even consider the idea, he was certain that he would die in that war –he had hoped he wouldn't, but it was clear through years of experience that fate was not on his side, if fate had been kind to him, perhaps his death would have been valiant, something that others would look back on and share a brief smile as they thought back to little Neville Longbottom who'd fainted in first year Herbology, who'd fallen off of his broom during their first flying test, and whose boggart had turned into Professor Snape in their third year.

Yet here he was, lying in his bedroom at his Nan's house, very much alive and wide awake as he listened to the noises his house made, the occasional sound of feet leaving and entering the loo, or the dodgy tap in their kitchen which never quite seemed to stop dripping, and of course there was Trevor who croaked almost as often as Neville blinked.

He glanced at his seven year companion with a half-hearted smile, they had come to a mutual understanding during sixth year, Trevor stopped running away and Neville stopped over feeding him, he attributed a large amount of their new found understanding to the fact that they had suffered through a war together, although Trevor's memory of this year's events paled in comparison to Neville's –who had been on the receiving end of more than a few bad spells, he was still the only person in this house who didn't stare at him in awe or start off on a story about how proud his parents would be of him.

A pair of dull and glossy eyes stared back at Neville from across the room before a bold pink tongue leapt forward and slapped itself against the cool glass of the it's tank. "You're a funny one Trev." Neville mumbled before pulling himself up into a sitting position.

His night time paranoia had somewhat subsided since his return home a month ago, whilst he was now able to somewhat repress the urge to sit by his window ceil wide eyed and suspicious of any passing shadows or sudden noises that dared cross his path, he was still kept awake by the distorted memory of his participation in the battle.

Or should he say war, there was a muggle saying about war and battle, something that helped differentiate the two, however Muggle Studies had never been his speciality, then again neither had Defence Against the Dark Arts, the only year he had shown even the slightest bit of improvement in the class was under the tuition of Professor Lupin, whose own defences weren't enough to save him, nor were they enough to save his wife, they were both dead, and according to Harry they'd had a son.

A son who'd be parentless, who'd grow up knowing how heroic his parents had been and how proud he should be of the fact that they died fighting so that he'd have a better life, that was the kind of fuckery that Neville had grown up hearing, and quite frankly it wasn't helped at all by the fact that his parents weren't even dead, they were in a state of oblivion, and he was proud, but it would have been easier to be proud if they had been dead.

He cracked his stiff fingers before looking up at the image of Harry, Ron, Hermione and himself on the front page of the daily howler –his Gran had glued it onto his wall as a 'welcome home' surprise, Rita Skeeter had written an entire article about them, mostly about Harry but she had given Neville a few flattering paragraphs, '_Neville Longbottom joins his parents Frank and Alice in a lineage of heroic deeds', 'in true Gryffindor fashion'_, '_Hero._'

That word was used more often than it was needed.

He didn't feel like a hero, the mere thought of being a hero made him squirm, at first it had been somewhat refreshing, a nice change being admirable, being respected, being important, his Nan sure seemed as though she'd never been happier –at least with him, she'd smile and boast about how her son, and now her _grandson_ had both played key parts in the war against you-know-who (he still couldn't call him by his name).

She'd jabber on about The Snake as though she herself were the one to hold the Sword of Gryffindor and 'slay' the giant serpent –as she so eloquently put it.

Of course now that the original feeling of light-headedness and glory had subsided, Neville was now left with the pain of grieving over 54 deaths –give or take, it was something that kept him up at night, it was something that he was certain kept everyone else who had been there up at night as well.

His stomach growled and he rubbed his belly.

His Nan would attribute his inability to sleep to the fact that he was going to 'follow in his father's oversized footsteps' when he arrived to work at the Auror department tomorrow. He, Harry, Ron and Hermione had been offered the opportunity to spend the remainder of their school year and most likely the summer training –something Uncle Algie had scoffed at, to become aurors, Hermione had turned down the offer, preferring to return to school and take her N.E.W.T.S.

Neville wasn't overly frightened by the prospect of it all, not with you-know-who gone and a majority of death eaters locked away in Azkaban, he felt as though by many accounts he should be excited and to some extent he was, he was doing the job that relatively every wizarding child dreamt of, he'd be successful, respected, the embodiment of a hero.

His stomach growled louder and begrudgingly he stood, the floorboards of his bedroom creaked with the effort of sustaining his weight and Trevor's eyes snapped open once more; Neville rubbed the back of his neck before making his way out of his bedroom and into relatively mismatched corridor of his Nan's house.

Augusta Longbottom was a lover of collection, she collected multitudes of knick-knacks and trinkets and scattered them across her oddly constructed home, of course outwardly the Longbottom house resembled any other house just outside of the small village of Whitney, it was one of the tall and narrow semi-detached houses, in a neighbourhood that was made up of a mixture of elderly wizarding and Muggle families, a majority of whom preferred quiet lives and rarely thought of their neighbours with the exception of Christmas when there'd be a vast exchange of banana bread and Christmas logs.

However the internal décor of Augusta's house left much to be desired, the vibrant colours and various stuffed animals would have made a lesser man nauseous.

"Evening Algie, Sean," Neville greeted his great uncle and cousin as he entered the kitchen, heading swiftly towards the cupboard and grabbing a pack of biscuits.

"Oi, that's _Uncle _Algie to you lad," Algie grumbled over his mug of scotch, he was less rowdy with his scotch then he was with his Fire-whiskey, if anything Uncle Algie would only drink scotch to help him think, being the avid drinker that he was the old man stated on numerous occasions that Scotch was a working man's drink, and if he wanted to get hassle for it he would have headed down to the Department of International Magical Relations.

"Right, sorry Uncle Algie." Neville mumbled biting firmly into a somewhat brittle Hobnob; he smiled a bit as the biscuit crumbled under the force of his teeth.

"Besides its morning now anyway, any lad who can't tell morning from night sure as Merlin shouldn't be in charge of keeping peoples safe." Uncle Algie continued before looking at Neville with a conspiring smirk, his hazel eyes somewhat mischievous, and Neville debated whether or not that was a result of the alcohol.

Sean snickered a bit at that.

Sean was Neville's cousin from Blackpool, he was five years Neville's senior and had shaved his head and taken to wearing suspenders which he coupled with thick black boots, he also had an uncanny ability to outshine his younger cousin in almost every aspect, up until recently of course when news of Neville's heroics reached his cousin who had previously been working over in New Zealand in the Department of Magical Creatures, supposedly chasing after a group of ravenous Hippogriffs.

Sean had decided to take an early leave –as many other Ministry work's did, and was staying in England for a few months or so.

"That's a bit harsh don't you think Uncle Algie?" Sean asked glancing towards Neville who's face had somewhat reddened at his Uncle's words.

"Nonsense Nev knows I'm only having a laugh, he'll make an arse of those Aurors just like his parents did." Algie replied taking another sip of his scotch.

Neville rolled his eyes at that, "I won't be making an arse of anybody I'm onl-.."

"A hero?" Algie continued, effectively cutting off his great nephew, and choosing to ignore the way the boy's skin paled at the mention of the word hero.

"Let's face it Nev, you're doing things that put any other wizard to shame, you're going to be a fuckin'-.. excuse my French Uncle Al," Sean grinned towards the older man in return to his stern expression, "You're going to be an Auror, it doesn't matter how much of that humble attitude you try to give off, you killed Greyback!" he exclaimed.

Neville could feel a heat rise up from his neck onto his cheeks and he averted his eyes from their imposing gaze, he took a bite out of another Hobnob, and rubbed his reddening neck.

"I remember when your dad had his first day you know," Uncle Algie began having successfully drained the remainder of his mug, "He was practically bouncing off the walls, and when he wasn't bouncing he sure as hell wasn't sitting around eating Hobnobs –not that you're not entitled to do that I mean you did get rid of you-know-who and all, but your Dad, he'd be upstairs-"

"I know he'd be upstairs triple checking everything." Neville continued for him with a slight smile, "I know Uncle Al."

"I just want you to know 'ow much yer like him yer know, " Algie continued with what was supposed to be a calm and reminiscent smile, Neville nodded his head in reply he was used to conversations like this, more so about how similar he looked to his Mum, of course none of it all mattered now, seeming as his parents had lost all recognition for their own son, how they could barely say two words, there was no chance of any improvement in their ailment and Neville had gotten used to that.

"Yeah I heard he was socially inept s'well," Sean added taking a sip of what looked like pumpkin juice, and this time Neville was able to join him and Uncle Algie in a chuckle.

"Says you Mr-I'm-off-to-hunt-the-pigmypuffs-abroad," Neville retorted with a slight grin before setting down the remaining packet of hobnobs on the side cabinet.

"Hey!" Sean exclaimed with a look feigned upset.

"Well it's true, first ya piss off down south, and you don't write for months and next yer back, with a shaved head and yer've got all these friends that you go off meetin', leaving poor Nev at 'ome with yer deranged Nan." Algie added as he looked down at his elder Nephew.

"Wait till Gran hears what you called her! You'll be out by your ear and lucky if she don't castrate you and pin it to the wall!" Sean laughed his hand going up to touch the stubble of his shaved head.

Algie's face flushed a somewhat beetroot colour.

"Oi! You tell your Nan a thing and you'll be the one lucky not to have yer dangly bits pinned to the wall." Uncle Algie replied with a light hearted smile, although Neville sensed a mild threat in the air, he still laughed along.

The next few hours passed by somewhat easily, a combination of stories were told, a majority of the ones from Algie's were already familiar to Neville however he sat back with a keen interest as he listened to his Great Uncles adventures.

* * *

Neville looked towards his cousin, who was seated with his robes wrapped tightly around him, laying back on the selected arm chair completely unaffected by the violent collisions the furniture of the Knight Bus made against each other as the bus came to an abrupt halt somewhere outside of a small welsh bus station, before just as abruptly setting off again on its jerky journey towards Diagon Alley, Neville on the other hand was gripping the sides of his arm chair so hard that the return of Mad Eye himself couldn't get the young Longbottom to move.

His stomach was doing back flips and he was certain he was on the verge of being vomiting with the continuous jolting of the bus, a middle-aged woman across from him seemed to think the similarly because she too was pressing herself so far into her seat it was a wonder it hadn't yet engulfed her. He shut his eyes as the bus came to another swift halt and he felt his chair tip slightly to the right, his foot slammed onto the ground in an effort to prevent his entire form from flipping over.

His anxieties were made worse by the visually impaired Driver and his less than reassuring 'apprentice' who'd introduced himself as Stan 15 minutes ago.

It seemed that whilst he had been allowed to live, fate was still not on his side, if fate had been kind to him his Nan's cat wouldn't have knocked over their last supply of floo powder nor would the wretched animal have mistaken it for a litter tray, and he'd perhaps still be eating breakfast.

His heart gave another jolt inside of his chest as this time his chair was flung backwards against the side of the bus and he struggled to calm his hand which had moved swiftly to his wand which had been stowed away in the pocket of his robe –a reflex that would most likely not yield over time; he looked towards his cousin who only gave out a somewhat flustered snore before his head dropped back down to his chest which rose and fell with every strained breath.

Sean had agreed to take the adventure down to the ministry with Neville, partly because he himself had paper work that needed to be filled out but also because it was an excuse to have what he called a 'Lad's night out', and of course to meet Neville's infamous friends, the ones who had decided to return to Hogwarts wouldn't be going back for at least another month whilst the school was being refurbished, as a majority of them had decided to work through the summer in order to catch up with what they had missed, and the ones who had decided to move on from school and try their luck finding jobs without a N.E.W.T level qualification were staying in the Leaky Cauldron.

"I erm, don't suppose you know the time do you?" Neville almost squeaked out to the witch sitting across from him, she shook her head vigorously.

"8:37am." Said a cockney voice from further down the double decker, Neville looked towards the acne ridden apprentice whose face was somewhat contorted as he read today's newspaper, things had been somewhat hectic in the wizarding world lately –understandably of course, it was an improvement from how they had been the previous year was people were too frightened to breathe but now they were all basking in the aftermath of the war. And the realisation of how much wreckage you-know-who had made to their lifestyle had finally caught up with them all; Sean mentioned something about a recession.

From what Neville could make out of the article from his distance it read: '_Bippity Bobbity WHO? The newly appointed Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt announces that his role as the new Minister of Magic is currently in the transition of becoming a permanent position for the former Senior member of the Auror Department, Advance Guard and member of the Order of the Phoenix, Shacklebolt's move to higher rank has been met with nothing but positivity from a majority of fellow Ministry workers who believe that due to his prominent role in fighting against the uprising of You-know-who, Shacklebolt will be able to reinforce order onto our-' _the rest of the article was obscured by Stan's hands, but Neville smiled none the less, he had remembered Kingsley's battle against Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries after Sirius Black fell through the veil where Neville could hear his granddad, and for a moment he was certain he had heard the voices of his parents.

Even if they were alive, there was a part of them which had been killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, Barty Crouch Jr, Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother Rabastan, that much Neville was certain of.

Another jolt and Neville's knuckles were almost on the verge of breaking skin when the bus came to another abrupt stop.

"DIAGON ALLEY!" Stan called out, and Sean lurched up into an upright position and gave his cousin a sleepy smile before standing.

"C'mon then, let's not wait for the grass to grow." He smirked as Neville peeled himself away from his position in his arm chair, the younger Longbottom tilted his head in acknowledgement to the middle-aged witch who simply stared back at him in return before he and his cousin departed from the Knight Bus.

Neville stumbled behind Sean as they walked through Diagon Alley; he was already beginning to miss his bedroom in Leeds, what with the constant stares he was getting, now he regretted more than ever how he used to envy Harry for his fame, now he understood what a burden it could be, he turned his head away from a group of judgmental store clerks and focused instead on keeping a steady pace with his cousin, who seemed more focus on basking in the attention being in Neville's presence gave him than Neville himself.

"Merlin's beard could you slow down?" Neville asked, when Sean's brisk walk became too much for him.

Sean rolled his eyes momentarily before beginning a slower pace in order to allow Neville to keep up, "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Neville replied with a slight smile, "Are you nervous?" he asked looking towards his older cousin, whilst they had never been particularly close in the past due to their age difference, and their social differences –Sean tended to find it easy making friends, whilst Neville found it easier alienating friends, the pair had formed a stronger familial bond over the past month or so, perhaps because Neville had 'matured'.

"Why would I be nervous? I work there, if anything it's me who should me asking you if your nervous, it is your first day 'en all," Sean said glancing towards younger cousin as they turned down an alley way, they were nearing Gringotts which was still recovering from the dragon escapade, if they wanted to make a withdrawal they'd need to make an appointment. "Are you nervous Nev?"

"A bit."

"Don't be, you're a Longbottom, you've got nought to be worried about."

They walked the rest of the journey in moderate silence, with Sean occasionally winking at the stray witch and Neville ducking his head from view trying his best to hide from everyone, what he needed wasn't a swarm of questions or the looks they kept giving him, a look of high expectations, as though they all knew something that he didn't, and his first year habit of vomiting out of nerves was threatening to reoccur.

They drew closer to the tall and intimidating building known as the Ministry, although it looked as though it had seen better days, and the sense of impending doom, and prejudice was no longer quite as prominent in the air, Neville couldn't help but shiver as he looked at it.

It wasn't like it had been in fifth year, when they were afraid of getting caught and there was a sense of urgency in the air, now he was alone, now they were expecting him, in fact now they wanted him.

His stomach churched once more.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters created by the lovely JK Rowling

A/N: Thanks for reading, please review, favourite, alert.

I will be uploading the next chapter after I receive **10** reviews for this chapter, mainly so that I have an understanding about where to improve, what I should keep doing and your thoughts on the story so far :)


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